


Bad Company

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman isn't nearly as scary as he thinks he is, Bruce steals coffee, Coffee, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: Jim drinks his coffee black. Until he doesn't.





	Bad Company

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Vatican Saint for looking at this. Sorry I've been so busy--I hope you enjoy!

"You're late."

The vigilante slid onto the roof, silent against the concrete and tile. Jim crossed his arms as he drew into sight, mindful of the cigarette in his left hand.

"I got held up." Batman grunted, sounding anything but remorseful. In the light of the bat signal, he was still shadowed.

"Must have been important," Jim remarked.

Teeth glinted in the darkness, almost a smile.

"Well?"

Beneath them, Gotham was coming to life. Sirens wailed, overlaid by distant shouting. Batman's head twitched towards the noise, drifting back a moment later.

Jim flinched as something sailed through the air, aimed unerringly at his head.

"Everything's on the drive," the vigilante said, looking back over the city. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Jim grabbed at the USB drive, nearly losing his cigarette in the process. By the time the drive was in his pocket, Batman was long gone.

"Humph," he said, taking a drag on the cigarette. "You'd better be."

* * *

" _Finally_."

In the pouring rain, even Batman looked miserable. He shut off the bat signal, water skidding down his cape.

Jim tugged on his scarf, edging closer to the roof access door. The roof was pounded by the pouring rain, rattling the shingles. Lightning flashed overhead, dangerously close.

The vigilante avoided his gaze, ducking his head. Jim felt a wave of anger, clenching numb hands.

"You're  _t-twenty_ minutes late."

"I-" Batman looked over his shoulder, his mouth working. Across his cheekbone, a nasty bruise was beginning to form. "It was important."

"Right," Jim said, crossing his arms so they wouldn't shake in front of the vigilante. "Give me the damn files so I can g-get the hell out of here."

Batman produced the USB instantly, handing it to him in an uncharacteristically direct fashion.

"This is...also for you."

In his other glove was a travel cup of coffee, the lid firmly attached. In the darkness, the blue lettering was still unmistakable.

"You got me...coffee?" he asked, taking the cup carefully.

"You were waiting."

"...right." Jim eyed the styrofoam cup carefully. He pried open the lid, gratified when a warm cloud of steam hit his face. The smell of fresh Greek coffee was an instant stimulant.

He looked back up. The rooftop was empty.

"I...thanks?"

* * *

"They won't be moving until tomorrow night, but you should keep an eye out. They've been smuggling in arms from out west, some high caliber stuff we can't identify. Probably black market."

Batman nodded, looking over Jim's shoulder at the file. "AR-15's, with some special modifications."

"Right. You already knew that. Of course you did."

Jim grumbled to himself, shutting the manila folder. His hands ached-the beginning of arthritis, if he finally acknowledged it. The chilly night wasn't helping.

"Well, this was definitely... _useful_."

When he looked up again, he was almost certain Batman would be missing. Unsurprisingly, the rooftop was silent.

Jim resisted the urge to groan, long day be damned.

"Of course I get to stay late and-"

He cut off as his eyes fell on a coffee cup, perched carefully on the far wall. The small styrofoam container was still warm, sending curls of steam into the frigid air.

Jim stared at the cup, waiting for Batman to leap out and continue staring moodily at the skyline. When that didn't happen, he grabbed the container, gratified to smell coffee.

_Humph. Guess he felt bad again._

He took a small sip, mindful of the temperature. He nearly spat out the coffee as the overwhelming taste of peppermint hit his tongue.

"Apology not accepted," he told the empty roof, setting the cup down on the edge of the building's facade. "I don't do peppermint."

* * *

The next time Batman was late, winter was well on its way.

Jim spent forty minutes shivering on the roof, taking a break only when Ramirez forced him to take the hand and feet warmers from her desk.

He spent another twenty minutes slightly less cold, jumping up and down next to the bat signal to keep warm.

"Sorry I'm-"

" _Late,_ " Jim wheezed, shuffling over towards the vigilante. He didn't give the other man time to explain. "Forgionno. He's m-making a move tonight on the Culo c-compound. E-eleven.  _Go_."

Batman stared at him, processing this. He handed Jim another travel mug, producing it from somewhere in the depths of his cape.

Jim dove for the cup without thinking, desperate for something warm. His hands tingled as he grasped the styrofoam. He pulled the tab open and drank greedily, gasping as his tongue burned.

_Vanilla...latte? That's...interesting._

"It's cold," he told Batman, who was still, mysteriously, present. It came out sounding more like  _iths cowld._ He ignored the vigilante's stare, drinking down warm vanilla as quickly as he could.

"...right."

When he looked up again, the other man was gone. With a fist pump, he stumbled towards the door, the empty carton clenched in one gloved hand. He tossed it towards the trash can with a snort.

_Guess you really can learn to love these things._

* * *

The pattern, when it emerged, was simple.

* * *

"Are you stealing coffee?"

Batman's head jerked up, the hint of a confused expression peeking out from under the cowl. "I-what?"

"When you're late," Jim closed the file he'd been looking over, gesturing with his cigarette. The blank stare was far from unnerving-almost comical, now that he knew the man better. "You bring me coffee. I used to be a detective, not an idiot."

"I don't steal coffee."

Jim narrowed his eyes at the vigilante, crossing his arms. He took a drag off his Marlboro, waiting.

"I leave money," Batman said after a moment, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. He abandoned his file as well, lips pursed. "I'm not a thief."

"Right. Because petty theft doesn't look good next to first degree assault and all those other felonies," Jim muttered, kicking at the edge of the door frame.

Batman made a sound that could have been a snort. "I suppose it's all about...perspective."

"I hate peppermint."

There was a long pause. The cowl swiveled towards him slowly, pausing.

"What?"

"I said, I don't like peppermint." Jim opened his folder again, leaning back against the doorframe. "It's disgusting. No idea why people put it in coffee."

"...noted."

* * *

Next Thursday, his coffee was suspiciously absent of any and all flavor. Alone in his office, close to one AM, he sniffed at it suspiciously, concerned. A quick google search cleared things up.

_Zombie mocha. Three times the caffeine of a normal cup of coffee, with none of the flavor. Sold at all Zombie locations in Gotham._

"Huh," he said, squinting at the small cup. "That's a lot of caffeine."

* * *

A month later, and the coffee was light enough to be pure milk and sugar. Jim wasn't sure there was actually  _coffee_ in the cup.

"Wait," he said, before the vigilante could leave, "This isn't even  _coffee_."

Batman glanced back at him, halfway over the edge of the roof. One boot dangled over the side.

"I'm...fairly sure it's coffee."

"Did you swipe it from some teenage girl?"

Batman glared at him, affronted. " _No_."

"It has  _sprinkles_!" Jim pried the lid open further, outraged, "And whipped cream. This isn't coffee, it's dessert!"

"You're being dramatic."

"Says the man dressed up as a giant bat!"

* * *

The next cup of coffee is black as tar, and just as thick. He takes it begrudgingly, head hung in shame over his previous remarks. Batman, for all his faults, takes the silent apology well.

He coughs over the first mouthful. The vigilante politely ignores his spluttering. The coffee burns like acid on his tongue, obliterating his taste buds in one mouthful.

They go over the newest file together, the paper mug slowly cooling, untouched in the corner.

* * *

"And if you look over here, we have the tables set up for the brunch later-"

Jim stepped away from the mayor, headed towards the small coffee bar against the wall. He was grateful for the minimal cover of the small alcove, ducking away from prying eyes.

He nearly spilled coffee down the sleeve of his dress uniform, cursing under his breath as the paper cup threatened to fold in on itself. He took the mug over to a nearby table, sitting before the mayor could drag him back into another PR stunt.

He let out a relieved sigh as the crowd finally passed, relaxing against the gala's rented chairs. In a few hours, the room would be full, but for now-coffee. Delicious, reliable,  _hot_ coffee.

A quick sip had him gagging. The distinct scent of peppermint flooded his senses. He set the paper cup down, morally offended.

"Not a fan of peppermint?"

He looked up, shocked to find himself nose to nose with none other than Bruce Wayne himself. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, praying there wasn't coffee running down his dress shirt.

"Not...not really."

Wayne sat presumptively in the opposite chair, folding his hands. He was wearing a dark suit, paired with a light blue tie. He looked utterly unconcerned.

"Shame," the billionaire said, "It's a house blend."

Jim looked away, unsure of what to say. He glanced back at Wayne just as a cup was placed in front of him, steaming.

"Might as well try mine. I  _abhor_ vanilla."

Wayne waltzed away with a wink, chasing after the mayor in a shiny pair of oxfords. Jim stared at the fresh cup, confused.

_Might as well humor the billionaire…_

He picked up the paper mug, bringing it to his lips with no small amount of skepticism. He smelled vanilla immediately, but the scent wasn't unwelcome. He thought back to the vanilla latte he'd gulped down, ages ago, on the bitter cold rooftop.

In the distance, he could hear Wayne kvelling with the mayor, his voice carrying further than it should.

The latte was a perfect temperature. He took a sip, then another. Warm foam hit his tongue, perfectly flavored.

 _Don't get comfortable,_ he thought, breathing in the sweet smell of syrup and milk,  _you're back to drinking black tomorrow._

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought! :)


End file.
